


Don't Die Digging

by gemzies



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anxiety, Ballins (mentioned) - Freeform, Blood, Depression, Guilt, Insecurity, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Seth has some serious issues, fun with metaphors, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 20:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21277514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemzies/pseuds/gemzies
Summary: Seth has always been of two minds. When he's at his best, his Good Brain is in control and he's damn near unstoppable. But when his other brain, his Bad Brain, takes over, he can't help but fall apart. Add in the constant guilt he feels towards his friends and boyfriend, and the mounting pressure on him at work, and he begins to spiral down faster that he can stop.Set March 17, 2019 - well on the road to Wrestlemania.





	Don't Die Digging

**Author's Note:**

> **please read the tags first**
> 
> Title is from the song "Don't Die Digging" by The Graduate.
> 
> Loosely based on my own experiences.

_Too much._

The words played on a loop as he dragged himself out of the elevator and down the hall. _Too much_. Overwhelmed and exhausted, he wasn’t totally sure if he would make it to his room. His body felt like it was made of lead, every step the equivalent of dragging a 500lb barbell down the hall. _It’s all too much._ He had no idea what time it was other than ridiculously late (or early, depending on how you chose to look at it), but he had stopped caring about the time as soon as he’d finally forced himself into the car for the three hour drive from his home in Iowa to Chicago for Raw the next night.

He was so tired that it took him a few tries to get the keycard to work, and he practically fell into his hotel room once he finally got the door open. He dropped the card on the dresser near the door and dragged his luggage over near the bathroom before fishing out his phone.

“_Room 611. Left of the elevators and at the end of the hall. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow morning. Love you.”_

He put the phone on silent and threw it on the bed, his body almost going into autopilot now that he was in his room. He opened his luggage and dug out his toiletry bag, putting it in the bathroom before removing his hat, glasses, and clothes with a stretch and a yawn. He turned the water up as hot as he could possibly stand before stepping into the shower, hoping the heat would soothe both his aching muscles and his racing mind.

His nerves fluttered around his stomach, lately an ever-present feeling as he slowly began to crumble under the pressure. Pressure to defeat Brock Lesnar at Wrestlemania and bring the Universal Championship back to Raw where it belonged, pressure to beat Drew McIntyre and avenge the terrible things he did to his brothers the week before, pressure to just be _better_. A better wrestler, a better friend, a better lover. But the dark part of his mind, his Bad Brain, just _knew_ he would never be good enough for the people that mattered. He’d never be able to live up to the expectations of the fans, or of his friends, or of his boyfriend.

It was simply too much for him to handle.

Seth let the near-scalding water run over his shoulders and back, running a hand through his long dark hair and letting out a sigh. He let his mind wander back to _before_ – before he let this whatever-it-is rear it’s head, before the Bad Brain took over. Before he ruined everything.

Seth was on top of the damn world at the beginning of 2014. He was firmly entrenched on the main roster, having held tag-team gold and was constantly featured on pay-per-views, running roughshod over WWE with his Shield brothers. Self-confidence oozed out of him because he knew no one could touch him in the ring, and with Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns beside him he felt like he was damn near unstoppable.

But that was _before_.

Before he let Triple H talk his way into his head. Before all the words about how the Shield was weighing him down, and the questions about how if that wasn’t the case then why hadn’t he held a singles title like Dean had? Sentences about him being the weak link, that he was sitting back and letting Ambrose and Reigns eclipse him because he couldn’t keep up. Phrases and paragraphs about how The Authority could help him prove all that wrong.

Remarks that planted tiny seeds in his mind. Seeds of doubt, of distrust in his own abilities. Seeds that sprouted paranoia, roots drenched in anxiety growing and wrapping themselves around his brain and forcing a side of himself back up that he had buried deep in the ground when he was a teenager. The stranglehold the vines had on him allowed everything to coexist briefly, the two parts of his mind forcibly joined into one by the ever-tightening growth.

Swinging that chair ripped him in half.

All of his confidence and faith in himself, his integrity, his Good Brain, was yanked away the moment the cold steel made contact with Roman’s back. His Bad Brain took over completely the moment Hunter wrapped his arm around him in praise.

Despite the face they showed to the public, Seth knew Hunter and Stephanie hadn’t singled him out because he was the best. He was never the “chosen one”, the “golden boy”. They chose him because he was weak. Easy to manipulate, to control, to use. They built him up and tore him back down repeatedly for their own gain, feeding his Bad Brain with what it needed to turn him into everything he had hated. He feigned arrogance but was a coward, his insecurities leading him to run from the same fights he used to welcome. Anxiety and loneliness drove him to do terrible things, to launch sick and sadistic attacks on people he’d previously loved and looked up to.

Five years later, he still shuddered slightly every time he saw a cinder block.

He knew he’d carry the weight of those actions the rest of his life.

Seth slowly slid down the tile to the floor of the shower stall to keep himself from throwing up as the oh-too-familiar feelings of guilt added to the anxiety swirling inside him. He pulled his knees to his chest and placed his head down on them, breathing deeply and trying to will the contact of his forehead to his own skin to ground him somehow.

He’d left a trail of bad decisions and fumbled apologies behind him in the wake of that period, as he struggled to get himself together after Triple H turned on him and left him with nothing but the shell of himself he’d become. All of them motivated be a desire to be better and an underlying fear that he never could be. Standing up to Hunter let him finally break the chains that had held his Good Brain down, letting it slowly float back up to the surface as he fought to regain a sense of who he was before the Authority poisoned his mind.

But it was the unexpected weeks in rehab with a certain Irishman that truly allowed his Good Brain to take control again.

He tried to suppress the sob that arose in his chest as more memories and more guilt crashed on top of him, his body shuddering as it forced its way out of him anyway. _God, I wish Finn was here_. All he wanted in the world at that moment was to feel his boyfriend’s arms around him, the comforting warmth of his breath on his skin as he talked him down the way he had so many nights before. Something he couldn’t have, and something he knew he didn’t deserve.

He sat curled into himself like that until the water ran cold. His head felt heavy when he finally lifted it off his knees, like he could feel the weight of all the emotions piling on top of him. The chilled water crashed onto his skin and he shivered as he forced himself to stand up and turn it off. But he didn’t register the cold in his head, exhaustion leaving him numb to anything outside of his own mind. He went back into autopilot as he stepped out of the tub and dried himself off, body carrying him through the motions as he pulled on a pair of boxers and brushed his hair and his teeth.

After moving his phone to the nightstand Seth laid down on the bed, suddenly lacking the energy to even move himself under the covers nonetheless turn the lights off. His mind was still moving at warp speed, flying through the galaxies that made up his memories and leaving behind a trail of every black hole he’d been trying to escape from. Lesnar, McIntyre, not being able to help as Bobby Lashley and Lio Rush tormented Finn, breaking his back the night after winning the Royal Rumble, losing the Intercontinental Championship, Roman’s gut-wrenching announcement, Dean.

_Dean_.

Dean Ambrose. Probably the biggest beacon of “Seth Rollins is a fuck up” one could ever find. He’d failed Dean so many times over the years they’d known each other, each time due to his own self-doubt and self-loathing. He failed to be there for him when he needed it during the initial run of the Shield, arguing and infighting instead of supporting him. He failed him again with the terrible things he did to him during his time with the Authority, acting on impulse and false-praise and never stopping to consider how deeply he was wounding a man that he would give his life for. He failed yet again to be there for him after they reconciled, when Dean was injured and recovering first from surgery and then near-fatal illness. Seth had called, texted, etc., but wasn’t able to see through Dean’s façade to give him what he really needed the way he should have as a friend. He failed to see what was really going on, how much further down the rabbit hole the experience had driven him. He failed him. Again.

He wasn’t surprised when Dean finally snapped, finally turned on him, and he blamed himself fully and completely for it even if he’d never admit it out loud. He knew he had it coming. He found it almost poetic, even.

Him turning on his friends was what allowed his Bad Brain to take over previously. His friend turning on him was what allowed it to happen again.

_It’s all too much._

He began absent-mindedly scratching at his wrist, a habit he first picked up in high school. The first time he had encountered his Bad Brain. An all-too familiar itch began to spread across his body, and he sat up to look at his fingers as they moved across his crawling skin. He watched with a combination of curiosity and intent, his tanned skin paling as his nails pulled back the surface, a stinging sensation running all the way up his arm, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He clawed away layer after layer, the stinging slowly turning into a sharp pain, digging deeper and deeper until crimson red began to fill the holes he’d created.

He stopped tearing at himself and simply stared at the blood as it began to run down his wrist. He didn’t feel any satisfaction from it the way he would have when he was younger, but at least in that moment he _felt_. Felt the pain from the cuts and the feeling of drops of thick liquid landing on his leg, and not the empty, vacant anxiety he’d been trapped in before.

Seth’s bleeding arm moved over to his other wrist, preparing to repeat the process, when suddenly he snapped out of the almost catatonic state he’d been in and his stomach lurched with the reality of what he’d just done. _No. No, no, no. Not again._ He ran into the bathroom, dropping to his knees and emptying the tiny contents of his stomach as soon as he reached the toilet. When he was finished, he sat there for a moment, shaking slightly, catching his breath. Then he began moving in a panic, tearing through his toiletries bag until he located the small pair of nail clippers he kept there. He worked recklessly, cutting his fingernails as low as he could possibly get them in a crazed act of self-preservation.

The tiny bit of his logical self that was still there knew that wasn’t the way he should be dealing with what he had done to himself. But he was so tangled in the web his Bad Brain had woven that he couldn’t think clearly enough to do anything else. The harder he had tried to escape the further he was wrapped up in it, slowly trapping himself in the sticky silk until he was just waiting to be devoured.

He stumbled out of the bathroom and somehow managed to turn the lights off before again crashing down on top of the bed. Despite himself he reached over and grabbed his phone, and his heart sank when he opened it and found his earlier message had received no response. _Why did I expect anything different?_ he asked himself with another sigh as he opened Instagram in a vague attempt to stop the broken record he’d been spinning in his mind so he could finally get some sleep. Or at least find the mute button.

The first picture he saw when the app loaded caught him off guard. He drank in the image of Finn Bálor that greeted him, green shirt bringing out the beautiful blue of his eyes, suit jacket accenting his body perfectly, pale skin illuminated by the camera’s flash as he stood in what appeared to be a darkened arena. _God, he’s beautiful,_ he thought as he scrolled down to find another picture of Finn wearing the same shirt sans jacket, posing with someone in what appeared to be a boxing ring. _Oh, right. He’s in New York._ Seth had somehow forgotten that Finn was walking his friend Mick Conlan to the ring for his fight at Madison Square Garden. He almost hadn’t been able to, having already been booked to go to Abu Dhabi as a representative for WWE at the Special Olympics World Games that weekend, and Seth was surprised that he’d managed to forget how large the Irishman’s grin had been when he’d received the news that he could do it.

Seth opened twitter and scrolled for a moment until he found footage of the entrance. He watched as his boyfriend made the walk through the crowd to the ring, waving the Irish flag high as he followed behind his friend and countryman. He was so proud of Finn in that moment, as he stood there representing his friend, representing WWE, representing his home country on such a large scale, but his heart didn’t have the energy left to swell up the way it normally would have. _I don’t deserve someone like you,_ he sighed to himself.

He loved Finn Bálor with all his heart, and Finn’s beautiful smile always held love and promises when he found it directed his way. But somewhere in the back of his Bad Brain Seth knew it was too good to be true, that he no business being with someone as full of light as Finn, and he knew he would screw it up somehow eventually.

Their entire relationship was built upon one of the biggest screw ups of his life to begin with.

Seth had apologized profusely that night in 2016 when the injury happened. That Finn was not only able to finish the match but that he pinned Seth for the win was of little consolation as he sat in the back the following night, and watched as Finn relinquished the championship he’d dedicated his life to winning. Finn had told him it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault, but it took Seth another couple of months before he could even attempt to contact the older man again. Once he did though things slowly began to progress to friendship, and during those weeks spent together in rehab in Alabama things moved from friendship to dating, eventually morphing to the relationship they’d found themselves in today.

He couldn’t count the number of times since then that he had apologized again, Finn always telling him it wasn’t his fault. _“Accidents happen, love,”_ he’d say, his accented voice low and soothing in tone, and that was the truth. It had been a freak accident, a combination of factors neither of them could have controlled in the moment, that caused the injury to Finn’s shoulder over two years prior. But Seth couldn’t let go of the guilt that had planted itself in his mind from the moment he saw Finn hit the barricade, more ammunition for his Bad Brain to use when it decided to open fire.

Seth shook his head and threw his phone across the room. He found his hand once again attempting to dig into his flesh, but the lack of nails stopped it in its tracks. Instead he began to rub his bicep, the friction providing a weird comfort as he rolled onto his side. He knew Finn would be drinking with his pals after the victory, meaning he was probably taking a later flight to Chicago in case of a potential hangover. He most likely wouldn’t make it to the hotel until right before they had to leave for the arena for Raw.

_Well, _Seth told himself, the tears he’d miraculously held back finally making their way down his cheeks._ At least_ _I can clean myself up before he gets here._ He continued rubbing his arm until he fell into a fitful sleep, somewhat soothed by the knowledge that Finn would never know what he had done to himself that night.

**Author's Note:**

> My original plan was to write a second part to this, and I might still do that in the future. But I've been sitting on it for months, so I decided to just go ahead and post it as-is.


End file.
